


5 Times Bucky Forgot + 1 Time He Remembered

by TalkMarvelToMe



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Domestic Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, M/M, Past Brainwashing, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-World War II Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Protective Steve Rogers, Their Love Is Stronger Than Hydra's Hate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-29
Updated: 2017-04-29
Packaged: 2018-10-25 04:13:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10756488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TalkMarvelToMe/pseuds/TalkMarvelToMe
Summary: When Bucky was thawed after his cryogenic stint in Wakanda, his mind was recalibrated to ensure he was no longer a danger to himself or those he cared about: the Winter Soldier was gone. However, the actions that Hydra forced James Barnes’ body to perform were forever locked in the man’s mind, haunting him via tainted memories.These memories were often triggered by the most mundane things - a friendly embrace, a colloquial phrase, or an everyday object. Typically, upon recall of these memories scattered with glitches, Bucky would succumb to disheartening confusion. It was soon discovered that these memories had been tampered with, one of the numerous unfortunate repercussions of Hydra’s electroshock therapy. This not only caused lapses in his memory, but caused inaccuracies. Inaccuracies that Steve took upon himself to help Bucky remedy.





	5 Times Bucky Forgot + 1 Time He Remembered

When Bucky was thawed after his cryogenic stint in Wakanda, his mind was recalibrated to ensure he was no longer a danger to himself or those he cared about: the Winter Soldier was gone. However, the actions that Hydra forced James Barnes’ body to perform were forever locked in the man’s mind, haunting him via tainted memories. 

These memories were often triggered by the most mundane things - a friendly embrace, a colloquial phrase, or an everyday object. Typically, upon recall of these memories scattered with glitches, Bucky would succumb to disheartening confusion. It was soon discovered that these memories had been tampered with, one of the numerous unfortunate repercussions of Hydra’s electroshock _therapy._ This not only caused lapses in his memory, but caused inaccuracies. Inaccuracies that Steve took upon himself to help Bucky remedy. 

Initially, the tainted memories revolved around something basic. Something you could easily expect any individual with substantial amnesia to potentially forget. Like, taste preferences. Overtime, the more Bucky pushed his mind, the affected memories became more personal, more meaningful. Like, personal morals. 

Here are five times James Buchanan Barnes was unable to remember something accurately and one time he overcame the tampering and recalled with perfection.

 

**NUMBER ONE**

Tossing the bag of sliced bread to Bucky, Steve turned to the refrigerator before asking, “ham or turkey.”

Steve knew Bucky’s pick. Ham; it was always ham. Steve also knew the importance of allowing Bucky to make decisions on his own, no matter how minor they may seem; so, Bucky played along with Steve’s feigned ignorance.

“Ham.” Big surprise. Steve tossed the bag of lunch meat to Bucky who began preparing his sandwich as Steve was still engulfed by the fridge. 

“Swiss or American?”

Bucky smiled slightly, thinking that the old version of himself would probably try and make some joke about the namesake of the yellow cheese - making a jab at Cap’s title. But, he’s not the old Buck; so, he settled for a simplistic answer. “American.”

As the bag of sliced cheese hit the counter next to Bucky, Steve continued his series of questions, “and what about condiments?”

Steve froze upon realizing what he had done. Bucky rarely reacted well to open ended questions, typically becoming rather anxious. The programming was gone; however, the man still didn’t seem accustomed to having seemingly limitless options to choose from. Without acknowledging his mistake, Steve pulled out a whole variety of jars and tubs, eight options in total, half of which pre-war Buck probably would have mispronounced. 

As Bucky’s eyes scanned the options, it happened. That easy. One damn jar of who knows what type of fancy sauce triggered a memory. 

_“You boys better not forget your lunches again, you hear, now?”_

_“Yes, ma,” a skinny blond haired boy responded as he rose from the cushion next to Bucky, a younger version, and made his way to the dilapidated kitchen. Things begin to get fuzzy, occasionally glitching similar to when the TV antennae need to be shifted to the right just a bit. Bucky shakes his head as if physically able to remedy the problem._

_“James?” The original female voice interrupted his thoughts, “you need a personal invitation?”_

_“No ma’am,” the words casually flowed from his lips; however, they didn’t sound right. Didn’t feel right. “Apologies.”_

_In the kitchen, there was a woman, maybe in her mid 30’s. She was small in stature with blond hair and blue eyes that closely resembled the frail boy’s. But, her figure kept glitching despite the surrounding image maintaining integrity._

_“Thanks, ma,” the blond boy gave a chaste kiss to the woman’s cheek before exiting the kitchen._

_“No problem-” there was a glitch in the sound as the woman’s mouth continued to move despite another person’s voice resonating through Bucky’s ears, “your mission.” The imaged returned to normal as the woman completed her speech in her feminine tone, “you two keep each other safe, now!”_

_With another glitch, the woman’s face lost all compassion and was replaced with a terse expression as she slowly raised a gun. From where did she even get the gun? What gun? Just as quickly as the gun seamlessly appeared, the weapon was gone as was her stoicism. In her outstretched hand now was a small brown bag. Lunch. Bucky’s body moved to grab the sack even though his mind didn’t want to comply._

_“I made your favorite.” Another glitch as the woman became tense once more, raising the same mysterious gun, this time as if on display, “Asset.”_

_“Come on, Buck!” The boy’s voice, coming from the opened front door, caught Bucky’s attention, snapping the picture back into focus as he turned back toward the woman. With a soft smile, she was now holding an unidentifiable jar on display, just as the gun had been seconds before._

_“Bucky!” Turning to follow the blond, Bucky obediently followed, immediately spinning on his heel once he heard a foreign deep voice._

_“Goodbye.”_

_The woman was standing just outside the kitchen, wielding that same gun, pointed directly toward him. The sound of the bullet exiting the chamber was simultaneous with a sudden odd sensation on his shoulder. He’d been shot._

“Buck?”

Glancing up, Bucky’s gaze met Steve’s eyes. In their kitchen. In the tower. No woman. No more scrawny blond. 

“You okay?” 

“Remembered something.” Buck nodded, desperately trying to latch onto any realness of the memory. “But, I don’t know if it was real.”

“Ask me and I’ll tell you if I know,” Steve nonchalantly offered.

Glancing down at the condiments again, Bucky suddenly realized what triggered the memory. The mayonnaise container was the same shape as whatever the lady had been holding. After the gun disappeared. She said it was his favorite. Bucky picked up the container, longingly staring at the label as if some sort of recall would trigger the memory to right itself. That memory couldn’t have been real. But, he couldn’t explain his memory to Steve without sounding utterly insane. But, the mayonnaise. Was it his favorite?

“Mayonnaise was my favorite?” Bucky’s words started out as a declarative statement; but, ended in the form of an uncertain question.

The hope on Steve’s face faltered, “not real, Buck.” The blond’s lips curled slightly as he elaborated, “you hated that stuff. Mustard was your go to.”

 

**NUMBER TWO**

On the fancy TV Stark generously assembled in the duo’s wing of the tower, a young carefree couple twirled around each other in a highly choreographed manner. The sepia overlay of the film didn’t even detract from the evident joviality of the entire scene, focused around a WWII era dancehall. Steve said it was one of his favorite films and had been subtly begging for Bucky to watch it with him. Bucky obliged. Eventually. 

_Lowering the now empty glass from his lips, Bucky flashed a smile to the young lady who was smiling back towards him, lowering her eyes seductively. Licking his lips and shaking his head to the lady’s not so subtle insinuations, Bucky set the glass down and turned to his right._

_“Stevie, I think I found a-”_

_But, the bar stool next to him was empty. No Steve. On seemingly independent will, his legs carried him to the front door of the dancehall. That’s where he saw the massive sign above the door outside: Lucky’s._

_Without even a second thought about the lady he was leaving inside and without any clue as to where his body was taking him, Bucky made his way to the back of the small yet bustling building. He could hear rustling that slowly grew louder as he approached the final turn, assuming the movements were coming from an alleyway of sorts._

_“I can do this all day.”_

_That voice. It was familiar. Steve. Bucky’s pace hastened as he made the final turn._

_“Johnnie, look,” the man towering over the scrawny blond drunkenly spoke to his nearby friend. “We gotta fighter t’day!”_

_Bucky just stood there, as if at attention with his hands clasped behind his back. Screaming internally, Buck attempted to force his body to move with every ounce of his being; however, his body remained still. Ceasing his failing efforts, the brunette looked down and saw his body glitching as if being stretched into an infinite number of directions. Occasionally, he was wearing slacks with a light blue button down and, upon another glitch, he was wearing black tactical gear, loaded with various weapons._

_Forcing his gaze back toward the brawl, he saw the small blond thrown forcefully to the ground amidst various glitches. The frail form desperately tried to stand up, only for his face to crash into the cement again on his own accord, not having the strength to even provide any distance from the trash laden ground._

_“‘N stay down this time,” the larger man spat, sending a hacked up wad of spit onto the downed blond. His voice wasn’t entirely the same though. And his expression upon turning wasn’t one of drunken rage anymore; it was expressionless. And his gait no longer faltered as only two sober steps allowed him to disappear into the night which shouldn’t have been physically possible given the 50 foot distance he passed. More glitching._

_Long after the two unknown men left the alley, small Steve, with various patches of blood becoming more prominent lay silently. Motionless. Entirely void of breath. Bucky did nothing, just stood and watched, even after the men had beaten him to a pulp._

“Buck?”

Glancing to the right, Bucky was half expecting the seat to be empty as it had been in the dancehall; however, Steve’s concern filled blue eyes glanced back toward him.

“Another memory?”

“Yeah,” Bucky began, carefully elaborating. “At Lucky’s. The dancehall.”

Steve smiled in recognition of the name; however, his joy faltered when Bucky didn’t reciprocate the gesture. 

“What about it?”

Bucky wasn’t sure if he wanted to answer Steve’s question. Wasn’t sure if he wanted to know what type of man he was back in the 40’s. He didn’t want to hear that he was the type to leave someone, especially Steve, so defenseless as he had in the memory. But, he just had to know. He had to.

“In the alley,” the brunette began, continuing only after Steve gave a reassuring nod, “behind the dancehall. You got into a fight.” Steve offered another nod with a sad forced smile; however, Bucky didn’t see given his head had already fallen in expectant shame. “I didn’t step in. I just stood there and watched.” 

Steve’s head dipped, just enough to catch Bucky’s eyes, coaxing his childhood friend to look in his direction. “Not real, Buck.” Letting out a breath he was unaware he held, Bucky continued to listen to Steve’s gentle words, “you always had my back. Always.”

 

**NUMBER THREE**

“Alrighty!” Steve enthusiastically spoke as he found his favorite drawing pencil, having finally convinced Buck to sit in one spot long enough so the blond could sketch his friend. “Sergeant,” he jovially joked as he twirled the utensil between his fingers, “let’s begin!”

_“Sergeant, let’s begin.” The voice spoke in English, yet with a foreign accent. Very familiar, but disconcertingly so._

_The short, round man pulled a small device from a pocket of his white coat, pressed a button and began speaking into the apparent microphone, “experiment 71B is male, approximate age mid 20s, approximate weight, 80 to 85 kilograms.”_

_Lying supine on a metal surface, Bucky tried to open his eyes, only achieving subtle movement behind closed lids as the man’s monologue continued._

_“Despite prominent physical atrophy, 71B responds adequately to pain inducing stimuli which reinforces my hopes of my first success for phase one of the injections.”_

_After what seemed like ceaseless futile attempts, Bucky’s lids, although heavy, finally allowed some light to enter. It was bright; a blend of yellow and white._

_“And, we shall begin.”_

_Time seemed to skip. Or maybe the memory was glitching again as the short, round physique of the man graphically morphed into a taller and more lean figure. A familiar figure. Wrapped in an array of red, white, and blue. Steve._

_“Sergeant,” Steve spoke. No. Steve’s mouth moved with the words; however, the voice that emitted wasn’t familiar at all. It was rough and slurred. Steve’s expression was a void nothingness as he sauntered his way toward Bucky in ceaseless movement._

_“Let’s begin,” the voice said as Steve’s lips moved. The blond twirled a filled syringe between his fingers causing an occasional drop of liquid to fall from the needle._

_Bucky furiously fought against the restraints as Steve closed the gap spanning between the needle and the brunette’s arm. He was trying to call out to his friend, knowing this wasn’t real. This wasn’t an accurate memory. It can’t be. When the needle pierced his skin and the fluid began filling his veins with foreign matter, the systemic burning sensation elicited a blood curdling scream from Bucky’s mouth._

“Bucky!” 

Bucky’s eyes were already wide open; however, it wasn’t until he heard Steve call his name did he realize the man was standing in front of him. Blinking his eyes and nodding furiously, he caught sight of the pencil wedged between a few of Steve’s fingers, the object that triggered the horrifying reenactment. 

“It felt so real.” It did. The scene was glitching, yes; however, _it felt so real._

“Ask me,” Steve had a gentle hand on Bucky’s shoulders as he pleaded, begged for Bucky to share the weight of the horrors, thinking it was the least he could do for his friend. 

“When the 107th was captured. In Italy,” Bucky slowly began, shaking his head with every flash of memory that returned. “The first experiments. You showed up.”

Steve nodded, affirming his presence in Bucky’s recovery from the Hydra facility. Bucky’s eyes filled with horror. It was real?

“You,” Bucky huffed out, nearly in an accusation. Steve’s sudden confusion prompted Bucky to continue, “the injections. You injected me with the serum.”

The blood drained from Steve’s face upon the realization of Bucky’s words. Furiously shaking his head in negation and desperately hoping his childhood friend would believe him, Steve tried to rein in tears as his words departed, barely audible, “no. Not real.”

 

**NUMBER FOUR**

Bucky bolted upright, thoroughly drenched in sweat, forcefully swallowing down the uneasy lump that had formed in his throat. _Just a nightmare,_ he mentally repeated to himself. Unsurprisingly, the door swiftly opened as Steve entered his room. FRIDAY often told the blond when Bucky had a nightmare given sometimes the severity would result in bodily harm. 

“You okay?”

Bucky silently nodded. He appreciated Steve’s gesture; however, the continuous need to have someone nearby made Bucky feel his progress was subpar. Steve pulled over the large plush chair from the corner of the room, aligning it flush with the brunette’s bed before making himself comfortable with one arm draped onto the mattress. 

Appreciating the silent presence, Bucky slipped off his damp shirt and settled onto a cool, dry area of sheets in Steve’s direction. 

“Thanks,” Buck mumbled as he gently moved his arm toward the blond’s, just enough to allow the back of his hand to come into contact with Steve’s forearm. Just enough to feel his presence once his eyes are closed.

“Any time.”

_“Any time.” Bucky crouched next to the side of the scrawny blond’s bed as Steve lay, occasionally interrupted by fits of coughing. Periodically, Bucky would use a washcloth to wipe away the sweat that formed above the frail boy’s brow, frowning to himself._

_After an abnormally long bought of silence, Bucky reached forward to feel the blond’s chest, needing to not only see the rise and fall, but feel it as well to convince himself Steve would be okay. Just another illness that he always pushed through. Always. Somehow._

_Shifting his hand carefully away from the frail teen’s chest, Bucky firmly grasped Steve’s hand. Without warning, the blond pulled his hand away as his expression glitched, becoming less fragile and more rigid._

_“Stay away.”_

_The voice that passed the pale lips didn’t match the body. Bucky felt his own lips move; but, he was unable to register the words coming out of them. It was as if his voice was muted._

_“You’re too close. It’s wrong.”_

The gentle squeeze on his right arm prompted his eyes to shoot open. Seeing Steve’s eyes so close to his body made him dart backwards as the words _you’re too close_ repeated in his mind. 

“Memory?” Bucky nodded in affirmation to Steve’s question; however, was uncertain if he should ask the man to clarify reality. As if the blond read Buck’s mind, he continued, “ask me.”

“Back in the day,” Bucky huskily started, having to lick his lips and force his mouth to hydrate itself before continuing. “You were sick. I was trying to take care of you. But,” eyes falling, Bucky only continued having felt Steve’s reassuring gentle squeeze on his forearm. Steve keeps initiating closeness. Maybe his memory wasn’t real. “But, you pushed me away. Said it was...wrong for me to be, uh,” gambling a quick glance at Steve’s face, Bucky elected to continue, failing to identify any negative emotion, “wrong to be too close. In proximity.”

With a sad smile, Steve replied, “not real,” before grasping Bucky’s flesh hand and resting his head on the mattress next to the brunette’s pillow. 

 

 **NUMBER FIVE**

Bucky picked up the rifle, cradling it in a flawless grip, perfectly positioned in his arms as if the motion was second nature. It was oddly comforting, holding the weapon; however, that very fact made Bucky nervous of Steve’s desire to take him to the shooting range. It had been months since he arrived at the tower, months since he’d been not under cryo _and_ not carrying a weapon. So, it was strange to voluntarily pick this weapon up for something other than killing or self defense. Just practice. With Steve. 

“Whenever you’re ready, Buck.” Steve nodded his head in the direction toward one of the five stalls of the underground shooting range, discreetly nestled under the tower.

Entering the center stall, Bucky took a deep breath, released the air, then slowly raised his weapon of choice. Aligning his line of vision with the scope, Bucky took one last deep breath and blinked one last time before acquiring his target. However, instead of his gaze being filled with the silhouette of the practice target-

_Dum Dum Dugan, one of the Howling Commandos, was on the other side of his scope as Bucky hunched down against the muddy German terrain. Ever so slightly readjusting the rifle in his grip, Bucky became aware of a foreign sensation. Breaking his focused gaze, he shifted his head away from the scope to see a bone and flesh left hand stabilizing the weapon. Not metal._

_A loud bang interrupted any further thoughts, prompting Bucky to assume his original position, chin nuzzled against his weapon as he stilled his movements to prepare for a calculated shot._

_Just above the diminishing fire, where an explosion had evidently just deployed, was Steve in his WWII red, white, and blue spandex. Scanning the horizon above his teammates, Bucky caught a glimpse of movement. An armed person. Solid black. Gun at the ready, pointed toward his team. An enemy. Target acquired. Between breaths, the trigger of Bucky’s gun elicited the propulsion of a bullet fatally spiraling toward the looming threat. Target neutralized._

_Scanning once more, Bucky caught the sight of Steve looking in his direction, down the opposite end of his scope, offering a lighthearted salute, acknowledging he knew Buck had his six. With continuous movement, scouting potential enemies, Bucky’s vision blurred then refocused. Glitch._

_Blinking away obstructed vision, Bucky readjusted his grip only to be met with a more familiar sensation. The sensation of metal against the barrel of a gun. Bucky wanted to lean back and look at his limb, prove to himself that his mind was deceiving him once more. However, his body refused to take the command. Refused to comply._

_Scanning. Scanning. Scanning until he came across a familiar bowler hat. Dum Dum Dugan. He made it a habit to keep an eye on his teammates and would therefore locate them through the scope every now and then; however, this focus was not one of protection. This type of focus was the Asset’s acquisition of a target._

_But he’s a friendly, Bucky mentally reaffirmed. He felt his body take a calculated breath as his finger gently shifted, hovering dangerously over the trigger as that hat remained in the center of the scope’s target._

_He’s a friendly! Bucky willed his body to cease further movement, feeling the glitching metal around the gun grow tighter in preparation for the weapon’s recoil._

_It didn’t matter what Bucky thought, though. The fact was that he pulled the trigger. He killed one of his own. Releasing the gun after seeing the iconic hat fall with it’s owner, Bucky immediately glanced toward his left arm. Flesh and blood._

The coolness of the concrete wall against his back startled Bucky from his memory. Blinking his eyes in an attempt to reorient his mind to the present, Bucky saw Steve standing before him with his rifle properly deposited in the stall with the safety applied. 

“Memory,” the brunette managed to utter before Steve could even inquire. “I killed him.”

“Who?” Steve’s brows furrowed upon hearing the barely audible confession of his childhood friend. 

“In Germany. In the war,” Bucky couldn’t bear to say his name and was desperately hoping Steve could connect the dots of his truncated fragments of memory. “I covered you; then, I shot him.”

“Buck,” Steve probed, “ _who?_ ”

“Dugan.”

Furiously shaking his head, the blond took a deep breath before correcting, “he died of natural causes just a couple years ago.” Bucky slowly nodded his head as if the motion would force his mind to agree with the newfound information.

“Buck, that memory,” Steve paused, shaking his head to rid the horrors he realized that had evidently been implanted, “not real.”

 

**NUMBER ONE**

The hot water made contact with the crown of his head and traced haphazard patterns past his shoulders and down his back. Bucky’s hands, metal and flesh alike, remained firmly planted against the cool white tile, flanking the spout where the water emerged, forcing the feeling of an impending memory away. The intrusion of a memory was never a pleasant experience and all the man wanted to do was take a relaxing shower. 

Giving in to his better judgement, Bucky finally let out a sigh of defeat and let his will wash down the drain with the soapy water. 

_The familiar blond boy lay on the bed in front of him, curled up in the fetal position, shivering from an evident fever. He couldn’t have been older than late teens; however, Bucky knew pre-serum Steve always looked substantially younger than actuality. So, maybe he was in his early 20s._

_“C’mon, pal, let’s get you in the shower,” Bucky began, trying to shift himself into the blond’s line of vision. “You haven’t had one in days and it may help break the fever.”_

_“C-can’t...walk,” Steve managed to weakly mumble out, “n-no move.”_

_Ignoring the blond’s denial, Bucky slipped into their shared bathroom and turned on the shower faucet, supplying water to their rare luxury. Making his way back to Steve’s bed, Bucky stripped to his underwear and helped the blond do the same despite occasional protests in fear of getting Bucky sick as well._

_“You can’t get me sick. I’m invincible, Stevie,” the brunette joked back in response as he carried the frail frame to the bathroom, “don’t’cha forget that.”_

_The blond gave a wan smile in return as Bucky stepped into the shower, positioning Steve under the warm water. Bucky allowed himself to finally relax somewhat as the incessant tremors began to subside as Steve’s body began to win the waging war against the fever._

_With a weak smile, Steve leaned his head back to better look up at the brunette, “th-thanks.” The stutter was different than before, though. It was the entire image of the memory snagging. A glitch. “Thanks, Asset.” The smile had fallen from the blond’s face as he said that god forsaken word, only to be replaced by stoicism._

_Bucky shook his head and repeatedly reaffirmed mentally that this memory has been tampered with and to not believe everything he sees. As he opened and closed his eyes, the image skipped as if someone had fast forwarded the events at hand. A couple seconds? Maybe. A couple minutes? Probably._

_With another blink of an eye, Bucky’s left flesh hand was holding the blond’s chin, tilting Steve’s head upward toward his. At a painfully slow speed, their faces approach each others’ until, without warning, the blond pulls away with more strength than is possible given his frail state. The blond’s mouth began to move as someone else’s voice emitted, a deep voice._

_“No.” That’s all the foreign deep voice said._

_“Stevie?”_

_“I’m your mission,” it demanded before Steve’s frail expression faltered as Bucky’s visual field stretched impossibly far. Another glitch._

The breaking of tile underneath his metal hand pulls Bucky from the torturous memory. He looks up, past the cascading waters, at the spidering cracks that radiated through one small white tile. 

Closing his eyes and facing directly into the water, Bucky senses his heartbeat rapidly increasing in response to the heartbreaking rejection from Steve. But, it wasn’t true. It couldn’t have been. Steve wouldn’t have said that - there was no mission back then. Forcing his eyes to close impossibly further, Bucky willed his mind to revisit the memory to determine the truth.

_Bucky’s left flesh hand was holding the blond’s chin, tilting Steve’s head upward toward his. At a painfully slow speed, their faces approach each others’ until, without warning, their lips meet. Time seems to still as Bucky relishes in the feel of Steve’s lips - warm and feverish yet moist from the shower’s humidity. Bucky leaned back after the quick, chaste kiss to read the blond._

_“No.” Despite his voice being barely audible, Steve’s word was readily obvious._

_Did Steve really reject Bucky? There wasn’t a glitch. No foreign voice. No visual alteration._

_“Stevie?”_

_“Don’t stop,” was all the frail boy offered before crashing his lips into Bucky’s rather unceremoniously. But, it was perfect._

Immediately snapped out of the memory, Bucky’s head hung low, desperately trying to sort out the validity of the memory. His heart rate was still somewhat elevated. Breathe. But, he hadn’t been rejected. Steve didn’t say _no, stop,_ he said _no, don’t stop._ Bucky’s heart rate felt as if it was doubling upon the new realization. 

“Sergeant,” the Scottish voice of the tower’s AI made the brunette jump, “your vitals are dangerously high. I’m sensing you may be on the verge of a panic attack. May I call for assistance?”

Instinctively, Bucky almost denied the request; however, he needed to know if this memory was real or not. He needed Steve. 

“Call Steve.”

Not even a minute later, the bathroom door flies open, sending a rush of cold air whipping through the steam filled room. Without any inhibition, Steve opens the glass door to the shower and comes to an abrupt halt upon seeing Bucky standing still with no apparent problem other than labored breathing.

“FRIDAY said you, uh,” it was then that Steve realized the man was naked. Through a deep blush, the blond made an obvious effort at keeping his eyes at an appropriate level as to not cause Buck any discomfort. “You almost had a panic attack.”

“I remembered something,” Buck offered, aware he didn’t entirely answer the question. “But, I don’t know if it’s real.”

“Ask me.”

“It’s something we...did.”

Bucky saw Steve’s throat clench as he swallowed sharply before replying, “what did we do, Buck?”

Slowly opening his mouth to verbally reply, Bucky immediately realized he wasn’t even sure he could bring himself to say the words. He took a cautious step forward and slowly raised his left arm only to stop his approach upon seeing the glint of light on the prosthetic limb. But, Steve didn’t flinch. At all. 

Bucky slowly closed the gap between his metal fingers and Steve’s jawline, desperately reading the blond for any hint of rejection. Not finding any, Bucky took another hesitant step forward as he took a deep breath of his own, licking his lips out of sheer anxiety of this kiss. It was so simple; yet, it was _everything._

Feeling the subtle rush of warm air as Steve’s breath hitched, Bucky gently pressed his lips against the welcoming flesh of Steve’s. Desperately wanting more, Bucky had to nearly force himself off the man in front of him, keeping the kiss chaste as it was in his memory. Stepping back to ensure he could read Steve’s expression, Bucky remained hopeful yet anxious. 

Steve offered a warm smile that spread to his eyes as he leaned forward, whispering, “real” before gently pressing his lips against Bucky’s, restraining himself, desiring more contact.

Smiling into Steve’s lips, Bucky read the blond’s nonverbal cues and pulled him into the shower. Steve latched onto the initiation and plunged his hand into Bucky’s brunette locks before pinning the man against the cool tile in a passionate kiss. 

Through intertwined lips, Bucky managed to mumble out, “‘s not how I remembered this,” before yanking Steve’s t-shirt over his head, not even caring where the garment landed. Steve gave a slight laugh as Bucky offered a devilish smirk before lifting the blond by the back of his thighs, prompting the Captain to wrap his legs around the brunette’s waist before both crashed into the tile once again. 

“I thought you were smaller,” Bucky joked as he nipped at Steve’s collarbone.

“You said that,” Steve huffed out, interrupted by his own moan before continuing, “back when I found you-”

“Punk, I remember,” Bucky jabbed back, flashing a seductive smirk to Steve, “I was making a joke.”

With the strong hand at the nape of Bucky’s neck, Steve pulled the brunette forward into another kiss, mumbling into his lips, “jerk.”


End file.
